


hic iacet

by handydandynotebook



Series: axecution [1]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Billy Hargrove Being an Asshole, Complicated Relationships, Concussions, Crack Treated Seriously, Crack and Angst, Dead Neil Hargrove, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Injury, Mild Gore, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Murder, Past Character Death, Strained Relationships, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-14 14:08:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28796664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/handydandynotebook/pseuds/handydandynotebook
Summary: “I know you don’t want to hear this, fella, but you’re looking kind of green around the gills. Maybe we should check out what’s going on under there?” She points to the dried blood staining his tank.What he says next is cruel and uncalled for. He says it anyway because he’s hurting, confused, and frustrated. And because she’s Susan. It’s just so goddamn easy to get her to fold. There’s no Neil in shining armor to defend her honor anymore. Billy can spit whatever he wants at her and he won’t find himself in a headlock or slapped to tears no one else will see.“Husband’s body's barely cold and you’re already trying to get my shirt off. Gotta say I’m surprised, Susan, never pegged you for a cougar.”
Relationships: Billy Hargrove & Maxine "Max" Mayfield, Billy Hargrove & Susan Hargrove
Series: axecution [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2121561
Comments: 17
Kudos: 26





	hic iacet

**Author's Note:**

> continuation of the last part of nex, which itself was an alt version of dolor sicut ratio. don't necessarily *have* to read either for this to make sense tho, all u rly need to know is that susan snorted billy's coke and went to decapitate neil with an axe, lil bit of mistaken identity happened and lo, snafu ensued.
> 
> warning for mild descriptions of fascia and p brief moments of the flirty stuff w billy n karen.
> 
> edit 01-16-21 fixed typos smdh was i typin w my elbows.

The first thing Billy registers past the pain is sobbing. Someone’s crying and they just won’t stop. Enormous, rib rattling kind of sobs with gulps of ragged breath in between. The kind that have been held in for so long that whoever they’re coming from is breaking down like a dam. The sound of them grates obnoxiously against his aching head. 

“Shut up,” he says and wow, his voice sounds like shit. It’s supposed to be a demand but it comes out a croak and this has got to be the most hungover he’s been in recent memory. 

“B-Billy?” A fraught intake of breath. 

He cracks an eye open and there’s Susan— of course it’s fucking Susan. 

“Go be noisy somewhere else,” he mutters, definitely too hungover to deal with her and her sad shit that’s less than the last thing on his to-do list even when he doesn’t feel like crap. “Tryna sleep this off…” 

“W-Wait, don’t go back to sleep just yet!” 

Billy ignores her. 

* * *

“Wait, I did fucking what?” Billy squints at Max in utter stupefaction. 

He must’ve misheard her. He’s in this stupid brain fog and nothing is tracking right. He’s pretty sure the words she just said made sense but they must’ve been out of order or something, because they don’t sound right the way she spoke them. 

“Fought off the axe burglar who broke into our house, oh my god.” Max groans and claps her palm to her forehead. “Billy. This is the third time we’ve had this conversation.” 

No, that can’t be right either. He blinks at her slowly, takes in the pallor of her face under the uncomfortable glare of the light he wishes someone would dim. 

“Not my fault you talk too fast. Explain it slower this time.” 

Max sighs out, drops her hand into her lap. This is when he notices her opposite arm is in a dark blue sling. 

“What happened to you?” 

“We’ve had that conversation too.”

A frown folds down her lips and Billy can’t tell if it’s more frustrated or worried. He’s personally somewhere between both because he doesn’t remember any of what she’s going on about. It all sounds like some ludicrous nightmare but she looks too serious to be screwing with him and he does remember a little bit about being in the hospital. He knows there are staples in his gut, doesn’t really have the memory of seeing them, but somehow knows that they are there. He’s also got stitches running from behind his ear to his temple, kind of tender, kind of itchy, he doesn’t scratch…

“Are you going to puke again?” Max asks, brow furrowing. 

Again? Great, another thing he doesn’t remember. Billy shakes his head, stills when the motion pulsates through his skull. 

“No, just tell me what happened one more time. Slower, okay, no crazy rambling on this time.” 

“I wasn’t rambling,” Max protests, halfheartedly kicking at the tile. “But I am going to summarize it because I’m tired of repeating myself.” 

“Fine, I’m sick of listening to you talk anyway,” he grumbles, figures this is probably true even though he’s having a hard time holding onto what he’s been told, or how to organize it in any way that will make it make sense. 

“An axe burglar broke into our house,” Max explains slowly. 

“Axe burglar,” he repeats incredulously. 

“He was probably high on meth or something, I don’t know— country folks are weird, Billy. But anyway, yeah, an axe burglar.” Max shrugs her good shoulder. “He stole Neil’s watches and my mom’s jewelry box. He attacked my mom but you fought him off.” 

“I did that,” he mumbles, taking it in. 

“Yes. Like I was saying, that’s how you got, uh, axed.” 

“Right.” Billy fingers at the identification band on his wrist. There’s a date on it and he supposes that must be the day he was admitted to the hospital. He doesn’t actually know how long he’s been here, but it can’t have been that long. He can’t be missing more than a day or two, he’s concussed not goddamn comatose. 

“You seriously don’t remember any of this?” 

Billy isn’t sure whether Max is asking if he remembers being told or the events actually taking place. The answer is the same. He doesn’t remember either. The last concrete recollection he has is of leaving some party after realizing he forgot to bring his coke. He left to go back for it, planned on returning after. 

“So you don’t remember about Neil?” Max asks more quietly. 

“No, is he here too?” Billy grips the guardrail of the bed, swallows. His mouth has that thick fuzzy feeling, like he needs to swish some mouthwash or brush his teeth. 

“No.” Max’s face twitches. Her fingertips rub over the strap of her sling. “Uh…I don’t really know the right way to tell you this, Billy, so I’m just going to come out and say it. Your dad’s dead.” 

“What?” He stares, unsure if he’s heard her right. Of all the bizarre things she’s told him, somehow this is the least comprehendible. “What do you mean my dad is dead?” 

“The axe burglar killed him.” 

“Neil got killed,” he repeats dubiously. 

“Yes.” Max nods again. 

“You’re…you’re serious?” 

“Yeah, Billy, I wouldn’t joke about that.” Max fixes him with a solemn stare. “Your dad died in the house, he never made it here.” 

The words echo through his mind. Billy swallows as a sudden volcano of conflicting feelings erupts and spills through his stomach, some he doesn’t even recognize. His chest constricts tightly and the urge to gag hits his throat, stale saliva pooling over his tongue. 

He pushes himself out of bed and ignores whatever words Max keeps talking at him, hurrying off to the dinky bathroom. He pulls the door shut behind him and falters to his knees, purging into the toilet bowl. The motion wrenches awfully at the wounds in his middle. When he’s through, he rests his cheek against the cool ceramic of the rim instead of getting up, gingerly cups his hand over his gut. 

For awhile, Billy just breathes, soaking it in. 

An axe burglar broke into the house on Cherry Lane. That’s strange and shocking for sure, but not unbelievable. Not a bit unbelievable. Billy’s had a bad vibe ever since they got to Hawkins. It’s a strange ass town. And Max is right, country folks are pretty weird. Cow tipping, guys showing off farmer tans like those are anything to be proud of, freaking lawnmower and tractor races…Jesus, surrounded by these people, it’s a wonder their burglar wasn’t some inbred hillbilly wielding a pitchfork. He suddenly, forcefully longs for California. 

He fought an axe burglar off Susan. Okay, that’s…that’s not unbelievable either. Billy doesn’t really like Susan. She just…sucks. Yeah, Susan sucks. But she’s still Max’s mom and he always figured if she got on Neil’s bad side the way his own mom did, the way he did, he’d take it for her. Because Max didn’t need to see that, didn’t need to have that over her head. Taking an axe to the gut is a lot different than taking a punch from Neil, but all in all, he supposes it still tracks. 

The axe burglar killed Neil. Neil is dead. His dad is dead. That’s the one that isn’t sinking in. That doesn’t feel right. Billy doesn’t feel right. Neil being dead doesn’t necessarily make sense. He can’t really find the logic behind that one and more than that, it doesn’t feel like he’s dead. Because Neil was a terrible person, yeah, Neil was the worst, but he was still Billy’s dad. So if he was actually dead that would mean he’d have to feel it, right? 

He’d have to know it, like intrinsically, or something, but he doesn’t and Neil is dead, but no, he’s probably not, actually, because that doesn’t make sense. Neil’s not dead. His dad isn’t dead, Billy doesn’t feel any different and he’d have to feel different if something like that happened. 

A sudden knock breaks his thoughts. “You okay? You’ve been in there a long time.” 

Has he really? 

“Okay, so you have ten seconds to put your dick away or whatever, and then I’m gonna check on you…you have a head injury and I’m supposed to do that, so don’t get mad.” Max sighs on the other side of the door, loud and huffy. 

Billy should stand up. He doesn’t want to be on the dirty floor of some hospital room bathroom that someone (not Neil) probably died in sometime. That’s uncool and while she’d never say it to his face, he knows Max thinks he’s cool. He has a reputation to upkeep. 

Except when he looks up she’s already in here and even worse, Susan’s hovering behind her outside the door. He’s still resting his face against the toilet bowl. So much for being cool. 

“Are you crying?” Max asks uneasily, taking a step back, frowning at him again. 

“No, my eyes are just watering from the stupid puke smell.” He hauls himself up maybe a little too fast because there’s a short burst of agony through his guts and his head’s spinning as he fumbles to flush. 

“So you got hit with an axe too?” he changes the subject, nodding to Max’s sling. 

“No, no.” Her eyes dart around the small room and fall to her shoes. “Broke my collarbone. Skateboarding accident.” 

“You normally don’t suck at skateboarding,” he remarks because she’s actually good and that’s as close as he’ll get to acknowledging that she’s good, but what she isn’t good at is lying to him. 

“I built my own halfpipe at the junkyard and the boards I used were more rotted than they looked,” Max continues almost like it’s been rehearsed, planting her good hand on her hip. “They gave way on me when I tried to do a 180.” 

Behind Max, Susan’s face does something weird. Billy thinks it does anyway, but her expression quickly defaults back to blank and Susan’s always kind of vaguely weird, so maybe it doesn’t actually mean anything. Maybe it’s his own mind deceiving him because his head is still spinning and he feels kind-of-maybe-pretty dizzy, actually. 

“Huh…well quit doing stupid shit at the junkyard,” he mutters and something about this story still doesn’t seem right, but maybe that’s him too, him and this stupid brain fog carousel ride— it would be awesome if the room could cut him a fucking break and just go still for five minutes. 

“Like you’ve never done stupid shit at the junkyard.” Max glares.

“Can we not curse?” Susan asks so quietly it’s scarcely audible, voice as soft as the tissue balled in her hands. “Our family’s been through enough, we should at least be civil with each other.” 

Ugh, fucking Susan. She’ll be frosting cupcakes while Neil kicks Billy’s kidneys in on the other side of the house and she’ll bend over backwards for the bastard at the drop of a hat, apologizing profusely when he’s the one throwing her favorite knickknacks across the room or scurrying off to change her clothes whenever he tells her beige makes her look bloated or she should wear the scarf he bought her instead of that ratty mess of a rag she knitted, but god forbid somebody lets a swear word slip. 

And where does she get off saying ‘our family’ as if that’s anything close to what they are? Billy would never claim her. Max, well, okay, he’ll claim Max but it’s still a tentative claim, it took awhile to get there. And the only thing that made them family in the official sense of the word was Neil. Neil was Billy’s only family for awhile and now Neil is— Neil isn’t— 

“I’m going to take a walk,” he decides, weaving around the both of them. 

They say things behind him that Billy tunes out. He doesn’t have enough room for anything else in his head, still struggling to process the deluge of information that’s already been thrust his way. The lights in the hallway are even brighter than the ones in his room, sickeningly so. He feels like he’s going to hurl again and it intensifies the headache he realizes he can’t remember not having, but he keeps walking anyway.

Billy just needs space, needs to get away from, from…something. He doesn’t know. These damn blinding lights. 

Some girl passes him in the hall and compliments him with a short and sweet, “cute butt,” lashes winking in between pops of the bubblegum in her mouth. She’s pretty cute herself, he’d flirt back on a better day. But as is, he’s not even exactly sure where he’s going and his middle is throbbing like a flurry of fire ants but that’s not as bad as what’s got to be a migraine by now— these fucking cursed lights —and also Neil is dead, apparently. Neil is dead. 

Neil is dead and Billy thinks he has feelings about that. He has to, right? 

There is a smaller, unoccupied waiting area of some kind across from the public bathrooms. Billy slips inside and shuts the lights off, parks himself in the chair next to the vending machine. There’s a coolness coming off the machine that feels pretty nice. 

Neil is dead. According to Max this isn’t even the first time he’s been told Neil is dead but that part doesn’t really feel real either. That he’s been told before, like, who forgets being told their dad got axe murdered? 

And Neil was a scumbag of a person, super shitty dad. Literally the worst dad except maybe not quite as bad as this guy Billy saw on the news once who killed his entire family and then hung himself in the barn. Again with all that country weirdness, maybe something in the well water…so Neil was possibly marginally less shitty than that guy but indisputably a giant hemorrhoidal asshole all the way around. 

An asshole who he’s supposed to believe got murdered by some other asshole, an axe swinging, thieving asshole who broke into the house. And that sounds fucking crazy but there’s no reason for Max to lie about that, right? Billy knows this, logically, but even the absence of motive to lie doesn’t make it feel like a truth. But there’s no Neil in sight and there are wounds, he— he has wounds. 

There are staples in his stomach. He doesn’t actually remember being shown or told about them, he doesn’t know how he knows they’re there. 

Billy runs his hands through his hair, exhaling heavily into the dark of the room. His thumb grazes over the stitches and once he’s over being exhausted and confused, he’s going to be pissed at the way his hair’s been shaved around the injury. He takes good care of his hair, damn it, now it’s all uneven like some second-rate undercut. 

Billy slumps sideways in the chair, shoulder bumping against the vending machine. He quits trying to make sense of what he knows, what he’s been told, the feelings knotting and writhing and tearing past recognition. He lets his thoughts tangle and his emotions explode in silence, forms a fist and slams the side of it against the vending machine just to feel something that he can actually understand. 

And after that, time itself stops tracking and he isn’t actually sure how long it’s been when Susan shows up, wringing her purse strap in her hands. 

“Do you want something out of there?” she asks, nodding to the machine. 

“No.” And if he did, he wouldn’t ask her. 

“Okay.” Susan glances around, nibbles lightly at her lip. “Are you okay?” 

“Neil’s really dead?” 

“Y-Yes, oh, Neil, um. He died, yes he did.” Susan bobs her head, hands even antsier at her purse strap. 

“How?” Billy asks. “Max told me about the break in, the burglar with an axe, but she didn’t exactly say how Neil…” 

Maybe the details will make it more real. 

There is a long pause. Susan’s twisting her purse strap so hard Billy’s partly convinced she’s trying to rip it off. The quiet drags out for so long that he suddenly isn’t sure he actually asked the question. Maybe it got lost in his stupid brain fog and he only feels like he asked aloud. But then Susan’s hands stop moving and her gaze sharpens on his. 

“Neil died of blood loss. He was struck nineteen times in total.” 

Billy draws a breath and palms at his eyes. They’re not stinging. Just dry. Itchy. Must be the humidity or something. 

“And I got whacked a few times, right?” 

“Twice with the blade and once with the blunt side, yes.” Susan nods slowly. “B-But you’re okay, Billy, you’re going to be fine.” 

He didn’t ask about that. “Max said I protected you.” 

“You did.” Susan takes a step closer to him, begins to reach out and stops short when he narrows his eyes. “You fought him off and chased him away, and I’ll never be able to thank you enough.” 

It’s kind of hard to concentrate but Billy works through her words as best he can and reaffirms, okay, yeah. He would do that for Susan. Or maybe exactly not for her, maybe it’d actually be for Max. He’d defend Susan from Neil or some crazed axe burglar, or whoever else he had to shield her from. But he shouldn’t let her know that. He absolutely can’t let her have it for free. 

Billy is sore and confused and his dad is dead, and he can’t even begin to process what he feels about that. So he bears his teeth and makes Susan squirm because he can, lashes out because it is there and it is easy. 

“Why the hell would I take an axe to the gut for your sorry ass?” 

She flinches, sucking her lower lip between her teeth as she takes a step back. 

“I s-suppose you’re more protective than you realize.” 

“Pfft, fat chance.” 

Susan lowers her head, dithers another two steps back. “Are you, um, are you sure you don’t want anything from the vending machine?” 

“If I really saved your life, shouldn’t you just get me one of everything?” He lifts a brow. “Kiss my ass, spoil me rotten?” 

Susan gives him a tired look and kneads her palm against her forehead. 

“I’m…I’m so sorry about your dad, Billy,” she says, painfully gentle and jarringly sincere. So surreally different from the shrill, desperate way she’d apologize whenever Neil sent her knickknacks sailing. 

It hits him in a way he doesn’t expect, feels all kinds of abrasive and settles low in the pit of his stomach. 

“Maybe I’m not,” he replies without actually meaning to. 

Susan nods again, face so gentle he wants to scream. 

“Leave me alone,” he sighs and it sounds too close to a plea even though he thinks he’d intended to yell, but he’s so goddamn tired and the stupid brain fog has his synapses firing in reverse. 

“Well, I could do that. But do you know how to get back to your room from here?” she asks, doubtful glint in her eye. 

And it’s actually pretty rude how she doesn’t even give him time to think about it before her mouth is moving again, shooting more questions at him. 

“You remember your room number?” 

Billy remembers it as well as he remembers everything else of the past two (two?) days. 

“Can’t I just go home? I’ve had concussions before, I can deal at home.” 

Neil had given him a couple over the years. He possibly sustained one during a minor car accident but like, he’d also been pretty drunk during said car accident so maybe he was just extra hungover. And then there was one time where this stupid asshole nailed him with a basketball in the back of the head during gym class and it was probably an accident but Billy beat him up for it and seduced his girlfriend anyway. 

“They want to keep you for another night…” 

“What they want is to milk the insurance company for every cent.” Billy grunts. “I’m fine, I don’t need to be here.” 

“Uhh, okay.” Susan still seems uneasy but she nods. “Okay, sure. Maybe it’ll be better to all go home as a family. It’ll be Max and I’s first night back too. We’ve had to stay at a hotel while the police searched for evidence.”

“So this guy hasn’t been caught?” 

Susan shakes her head. 

“What did he look like?” Billy squints uncertainly, trying to fight his way through the brain fog to see if he can scrounge up a recollection of his own. 

“I don’t know. He was wearing a mask and it was rather dark.” 

* * *

Neil being dead feels more real at home. In the house where Neil is notably, unmistakably absent and the presence of bloodstains take his place. There’s blood on the wall in wide swatches, splattered across hung pictures, this rusty red-brown residue of what had to be a full-on pond in the carpet. Billy looks at that spot and knows beyond a shadow of doubt that is the place where his father expired. 

He feels ill even before Susan starts pouring buckets of bleach everywhere. The sharp scent of it travels through the vents and he’s throwing up again before long, opens the blinds and the windows in his room for the first time in forever and straight up sticks his head out the window just to hurl. 

Max comes in to check on him. Billy snaps at her to get away and feels bad about it after even though he won’t apologize. 

The ill feeling doesn’t dissipate for a long time and he doesn’t eat dinner even though Susan’s crawling up his ass about it, going on about how smoked salmon is supposed to be good for blood loss and he yells at her even louder than he yelled at Max because what kind of idiot fills the house with a fucking fish smell right after the bleach smell finally went away. 

Then Max stomps in and yells at him for yelling at her mom, and she can do that now, she can swing his door so hard with her good hand it slams into the wall and wail at him like a pint-sized banshee because Neil isn’t here to shout the loudest and deafen the rest of them into silence. 

Neil’s only presence in the house was that blood pond residue and Susan scrubbed it out with bleach. Neil’s been exorcised from this house like the demon he was. Billy should be happy. 

He should be jumping for joy because Neil is gone. Neil can’t hurt him anymore, can’t hurt any of them or ruin anything, can’t ruin Billy more than he already did. Neil is dead and Billy should be popping the champagne. 

Late into the night, he’s sniffling into his pillow instead and he doesn’t understand why because he’s relieved, he’s so, so fucking relieved. It’s an enormous weight lifted off his shoulders. It’s like someone took the Earth off of Atlas’s back. 

He’s relieved but he isn’t overjoyed, under the relief is something else, something almost like grief and that’s so— so goddamn stupid! 

Why the fuck should he mourn some asshole who drove his mother away with furious fists? 

Why the fuck should he feel any kind of loss for some bastard who had him pissing blood on Christmas Eve? 

Sure, Neil was his dad but he wasn’t really, wasn’t any of the things dads are supposed to be. Not most of the time, okay, there had been good days. There had been very good days here and there, actually. There had been proud days and pleasant days, even some where he’d felt loved, but they never made up for anything and the memories are all bogged down by everything else. 

Neil is dead and Billy should be ecstatic. He should’ve pumped his fist in victory the moment he was told Neil expired after nineteen whacks from some psycho’s axe. He should have taken one look at the blood pond crusted into the carpet and laughed his ass off. 

Billy should be happy right here, right now, that the menace is gone for good so maybe things can be okay, maybe even he can be okay but he’s not. He’s weeping into his pillow like some toddler who had a bad dream and he’s angry. He’s angry not at the home invasion or at Neil’s memory, but at himself for having such a backwards reaction to what’s actually some good fucking news. 

Eventually he can’t stand it, can’t stand himself, so he gets up and ducks out the backdoor. He marches up to his father’s truck and just starts kicking, at the tires, at the doors. His body ripples with rage and he lets it all out against the truck. It doesn’t hurt the truck any, the truck can’t feel its dents or dings. Hurts Billy a great deal because every strike of his boot against the vehicle sends shockwaves through his trunk and his wounds are silently screeching. 

But Billy has a high pain tolerance and he can take the hurt. What he couldn’t take was just lying there crying over someone he never, ever wanted to cry over and not truly having the faintest idea why he wasn’t what he wanted to be instead. 

* * *

It hurts more in the morning. Hurts so tortuously Billy initially cannot bear to uncurl. It’s like Neil’s found a way to punish him beyond the grave almost, except not. Billy kicked his own ass this time and he knows it. He’s paying for it. At some point he bled and it soaked through his tank, subsequently gluing the material to his wounds. 

He can feel it when he finally, finally forces himself to uncurl, the acute discomfort of the fabric tugging at his injuries. Coke would probably do something good for him here, but the baggie Billy swore he had in the nightstand is gone. He paws around through his other drawers in an effort that proves fruitless. 

He has no idea where it could’ve went, if he snorted it all already or put it in an especially hidden place. Considering he’s missing about 48 hours worth of memory, it’s a distinct possibility. 

He gives up the search and shuffles into the hall, intent on raiding the bathroom for Tylenol. Finds himself nearly nose to nose with Susan, laundry basket on her hip. 

“Whoops, sorry.” She shifts back and steps to the side, giving him a glance over and doing a double-take, eyes flashing with alarm. “Oh!” 

“Can I get by?” He frowns at the laundry basket blocking his path, frankly in too much pain to bodily push past and risk bumping his wounds. 

“Th-There’s— there’s blood all over your shirt,” Susan sputters like a clogged spigot. It’s not even noon yet and Billy’s already done. 

“This is not news to me, can you just…” Billy waggles his hand in a short shooing motion. 

“What did you do?” she gasps, reedy with distress. 

Goddamnit, today is not the day. 

“I didn’t do it, you did it,” he snaps and it’s the most nonsensical childish comeback in the book but annoying her into leaving him alone is as good a tactic as any when he’s too tired to yell. 

Only Susan doesn’t look annoyed. She goes flagpole straight, face stricken with inexplicable hurt. It’s such a strange, unprecedented reaction, it gives Billy pause. He almost wants to ask if she’s okay. Can’t quite bring himself to do that, but rolls his eyes and makes a compromise. 

“Look, Susan, I’m fine. I’m not bleeding, it’s all dry.” 

She doesn’t even blink. It’s as unnerving as it is exasperating. 

“Knock, knock?” he tries. “Anybody home?” 

Jesus, she’s weird this morning. Or maybe she’s always this weird. Come to think of it, Billy doesn’t really know her well at all. He always had to be more focused on his father, couldn’t be bothered to consider Susan much other than in reference to Neil and the way he ran the household, or in reference to Max and their relationship under Neil’s household. 

“I’m sorry,” she pules quietly, stepping aside and pressing back to the wall so he can get through. 

Fucking finally. 

Billy blinks at her and shuffles past. He downs a couple capsules with gulps from the faucet and tentatively rolls his shirt up. His wounds wail in protest when the bloodied material detaches and he hopes his own cry is lost under the noise of the faucet. 

The staples are still in place but the horizontal carvings over his navel are noticeably different than they were yesterday. The lips of the wounds aren’t flush anymore, Billy can see splitting between them. The staples are ringed with fresh blood crusts. 

Studying them brings it home that he could’ve died too. He could’ve died with Neil. But if Billy thinks about that for too long, he’ll explode the way he did last night. 

So he rolls his bloodied shirt down and makes his way to the living room. It’s an interesting feeling to sink into the couch cushions and know he doesn’t have to be on high alert. To let himself stretch out and not have to anticipate the arrival of an irate Neil. To lie down and know it’s…safe. 

Safe. Not exactly comfortable. Before long, Max has parked herself upon the throne that was truly forbidden territory— Neil’s armchair. She’s playing with her paddleball and every time the hard rubber sphere bounces against the wood it’s a stab in Billy’s skull. 

He tolerates it for what feels like hours, the boing boing boinging before she drops it and curses, and starts up again. 

“Cut that shit out,” he grumbles. 

“No way, I just got ten in a row.” 

“That’s not an accomplishment.” 

“I mean, yeah it is, considering I have to use my non-dominant hand.” 

Oh. That’s right. 

“Skateboarding accident,” he recites, lifting his arm off his eyes to peer at her. 

“Hey, you actually remembered this time.” Max lets the paddleball drop and he thinks he can detect a hint of relief in her voice even if her smile is teasing. “Your brain isn’t scrambled eggs after all.” 

Billy chucks a throw pillow at her and ignores the pain rippling through his middle at the movement. Max swings the paddle and knocks the pillow right out of the air. It hits the carpet with a soft plop. 

“Nice improvising. But seriously, cut that shit out.” 

With no further comment, Max starts up again. Billy is seconds away from ripping the damn thing out of her hands and snapping it in half. The paddleball is spared only by Susan’s interruption and Billy’s so grateful, he isn’t even annoyed by her. 

“I made some lunch if you guys are hungry. Chicken salad on croissants and sliced pineapple on the side, nothing special, but it’s there.” 

Billy isn’t sure if they’re all actually talking around Neil or if he’s just yet to come up. 

“I’m in,” Max decides, setting her paddle down. 

“Pass,” Billy decides just as quickly. 

Susan gives him a dubious look. “Have you eaten anything today?” 

He hasn’t. Billy feels odd and muzzy, and he doesn’t particularly care to move. Neil’s true and total absence has him some kind of off balance and it’s irritating because he’s relieved the bastard is fucking gone. He’d rather be relishing in it, still can’t pinpoint exactly why he isn’t. Billy can’t tell if feeling his father’s absence rubs him the wrong way because it’s still too new to put his trust in, or if there is some awful, wretched part of him that, despite everything, takes it as a loss. 

He really hopes it’s not that. Loss, fuck loss, it’s a gain. 

“I know you don’t want to hear this, fella, but you’re looking kind of green around the gills,” Susan hums, wringing her hands. “Maybe we should check out what’s going on under there?” 

She points to the dried blood staining his tank. 

What he says next is cruel and uncalled for. He says it anyway because he’s hurting, confused, and frustrated. And because she’s Susan. It’s just so goddamn easy to get her to fold. There’s no Neil in shining armor to defend her honor anymore. Billy can spit whatever he wants at her and he won’t find himself in a headlock or slapped to tears no one else will see. 

“Husband’s body's barely cold and you’re already trying to get my shirt off. Gotta say I’m surprised, Susan, never pegged you for a cougar.” 

Her face falls. Shoulders hunch up as her chin tucks down. She gives up like he knew she would give up and turns tail, retreating into the kitchen. 

Mission accomplished. 

“Why are you being such a dick?” Max shoots him a sharp look. “She’s trying to help.” 

“Yeah, _now_ she wants to help,” he mutters. 

And those feelings are complicated too, the urge he has to hold every moment Susan spent hiding from the hits he took against her even though he never actually wanted her to do anything. Doing anything on her part undoubtedly would’ve just made it worse for everyone. Daring to disrupt the status quo would’ve agitated Neil, made him feel called out. So he would’ve taken that out on Billy too, it’d have sent blowback Susan’s way and probably even put a target on Max’s back. 

Billy always knew that so he never actually wanted Susan to do anything, yet he holds doing nothing against her anyway. Maybe it’s the kind of thing where like, it’s the thought that makes it count. When the gift you get is useless or the exact opposite of what you actually needed, but you were still happy to unwrap it because it meant someone cared. Someone cared enough to get you a gift and the sentiment was important even if the gift itself was shitty. 

Maybe not, maybe Billy isn’t making sense. Still isn’t making sense, nothing is making or feeling sense. Max was wrong, his brain actually is scrambled eggs. 

Max is still here too, staring at him. She isn’t glaring anymore, blinking in soft expectation. She probably said something he missed, is waiting for him to reply. 

But even if Billy heard what she said, he doesn’t particularly feel like he’d have an answer. He doesn’t ask her to repeat. He drapes his arm back over his eyes, listens to her leave, and soaks in the safety of a Neil-less living room. 

The rest of the day is fragile and fuzzy. At some point Max offers him some of her prescription pain pills, which are slightly stronger than the standard Tylenol. Billy swallows them with milk from straight from the carton. The phone rings a lot, which they both leave to Susan to answer even though she only does about half the time. 

The whole day Billy is never not thinking about Neil and it’s exhausting, it’s so fucking exhausting. He mentally retreads the same ground again and again. It doesn’t do any good. Just amps up his own frustration and fatigue. 

There is nothing of value in thinking in circles so he doesn’t know why he can’t stop, why he can’t just turn it off. Neil is gone for better or worse. It’s absolutely, irrevocably better on all accounts so Billy should be trying harder not to feel any form of worse. 

“I scheduled an appointment for you,” Susan informs him at some point late into the evening that feels entirely like it just snuck up. 

Billy’s migrated from the couch to Neil’s armchair. His scent chokes him with every breath.

“To, um, get that looked at.” 

“Waste of time, they told me a little blood was normal.” It’s even written on the paper they gave him, although he does not recall what he did with it. 

Neil’s scent isn’t even stale yet. 

“That’s more than a little blood, Billy…why haven’t you changed yet? Do you need help?” 

This chair is so old. So, so old that when Neil got it, Billy was still small enough to sit on his knee. Small enough to be bounced, small enough to be flipped over it and spanked.

Neil sat in this chair so much that the cushion has molded to fit his fucking ass cheeks. Billy sits here and can feel the foam padding beneath the fabric tailored to a different butt. It doesn’t sink under him quite right, the chair’s had the same weight in it for so long, it doesn’t know how to distribute anyone else’s. 

“Can you grab me a blanket?” he asks dully, because if Susan wants to help so bad, well. “I think I’m gonna sleep here tonight.”

“Oh, okay.” Surprise flickers across her face. “You want a lighter one or a heavier one?” 

“Neil’s one, uh…the one he, um…” Words are suddenly failing him. 

“The one with the bald eagle print?” Susan guesses quietly. 

“Yeah.” Billy bobs his head. “That one.” 

“Sure.” Susan shuffles out of sight. 

Billy reclines. When she comes back, blanket bundled in her arms, she doesn’t pass it to him. She drapes it over him and he doesn’t deter her. He figures it’s muscle memory from draping it over Neil so many times. 

Billy closes his eyes and adjusts, getting as comfortable as he can with his wounds in a chair that doesn’t want him. 

He hates this chair so much. He wants to set it on fire. He’s going to do it too, yeah, next time there’s a rager at somebody else’s house, he’ll get drunk as fuck and throw this chair on the bonfire, let it burn. Somebody else can clean up the charred remnants.

* * *

Billy tells the journalists the same thing he told the cops, that he doesn’t remember shit. Last thing he remembers is leaving a party. He keeps out the part about the coke. 

Hawkins is a small town and word travels fast. People are dropping off casseroles and plants, asking what they can do. Billy navigates the attention as best as he can concussed. It’s difficult to focus, keep track of who is bringing what, concentrate on conversing. 

Susan shies away from the attention. Billy has always thought of her as some kind of chameleon, camouflaging herself in whatever corner of the room she could. Neil always spoke for both of them during public interactions, Susan’s presence faded into his. It’s like she doesn’t know what to do now that she has to be seen as herself. 

So with him concussed and Susan just…well, being Susan, it’s left to Max to answer the door most of the time. Max is better at it than they are. She’s short, abrupt, even kind of rude. But she can get away with that because she’s a kid, a supposedly grieving kid, and people give her more leeway. 

The only time he moves Max out of the way to answer the door himself is when it’s Mrs. Wheeler dropping by. Does some good for his spirits to see her with her hair down, by all means rocking those mom jeans and smelling like this spicy perfume he wants to think she wore for him. 

“Mrs. Wheeler, always a pleasure to see you,” he purrs in that smooth octave he knows she likes. 

“I certainly wish it was under better circumstances,” she says. “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry about your father. I can’t imagine what you must be going through.” 

She’s got a basket on her arm and a dish balanced on that hand, but he manages a half-hug anyway, likes the little nervous squiggle of her body against his before she hugs back.

“I appreciate it,” he hums into her hair, inhales the coconut scent of her shampoo. 

“It’s a horrible thing to lose a parent but especially so suddenly and so violently, you poor dear.” 

Billy releases her and shifts back, leaning a hip against the doorframe and watching her take in the sight of the stitches in his scalp. 

“Oh my.” 

He wonders if she thinks scars are sexy, briefly debates showing her the staples, but nah. Maybe they’d score him some badass points, but the flesh is a little reddish, slightly irritated around the metal. The wounds themselves are looking pretty raw, wider since his fight with the truck, edges partly split between the thin metal rungs. That could easily be a turnoff instead of a turn-on. 

“Don’t worry, Mrs. Wheeler, looks worse than it feels.” 

“I read about it in the paper, how you chased out the invader, goodness gracious,” her free hand flutters, fans over her heart. “You’re such a brave boy, Billy.” 

He’s sure he could turn her into putty if he wanted to. It’s a good feeling, mildly exhilarating even, this sense that he could, that he has that. That his attention feeds things in her. He too feels nourished when she praises him. He could wrap his hand around her dear beating heart, just like that. Not remembering his apparent act of heroism doesn’t mean he can’t milk it. 

“Just doing what I had to, you know. Protecting my family as best I could unarmed.” 

“They’re so lucky to have you. I really should get going, but here.” She hands him the dish covered in foil and then slips the basket off her arm. It’s a wicker basket covered and tied off with cellophane. “The tuna noodle casserole is for everyone, but the cookies are especially for you, Mr. Hero. Homemade.”

“Thank you so much,” he gushes with as much charm as he can muster, purposely brushing her hand as he takes the basket. “You’re an angel, Mrs. Wheeler.” 

Her eyes go all dewy and she gives his bicep a tiny squeeze before trotting back to her car. Billy watches her ass all the way. Sidles back and kicks the door shut only when she’s pulling out of the driveway. 

He puts the stuff away in the kitchen and Max pokes her head in. 

“Ooh, cookies. Finally something good.” 

“Nope.” He holds the basket out of her reach. “These are just for me.” 

“Nuh-uh.” She swipes up at it. 

“Are too.” He easily sidesteps her swiping and rips the cellophane down, plucks the card out from between the gingersnaps and snickerdoodles. “Only one name on it, mine.” 

“From Mrs. Wheeler…” Max’s nose scrunches. “Why is Mike’s mom giving you cookie baskets?” 

Billy splits his fingers in a ‘V’ and flicks his tongue between them until pure horror twists her whole face up. 

“That’s disgusting!” 

He drops his hand. “She loves me ‘cause I can get her screaming like a cat in heat.” 

He’s actually bluffing but only for the time being. He’s seen her husband, the guy looks like a retarded warthog. No way some dolt like that can keep a woman like her entertained. Billy shouldn’t have any problem moving in when the time is right. 

“Shut up! I don’t want to hear about you making Mike’s mom scream!” 

Max’s arm shoots past him. He means to block her and misses— stupid concussion’s definitely fucked over his reaction time —and she shoves a handful of cookies in her sling. Stuffs another few in her mouth and squirrels them away. 

Eh, whatever. It was still funny to mess with her. Billy plops down in a chair and swipes a gingersnap. 

“I’m not sure if you’re serious about what you just, um, demonstrated, but if so, it’s rather concerning.” 

Billy jolts upright, nearly chokes on the cookie as he whips his head to see Susan suddenly standing by the refrigerator. 

“Geez, where did you even come from?” he grouses. 

He thinks she really is like a chameleon in the corner, all quiet and camouflaged until she pops out in unwelcome, jump scare fashion. 

Susan purses her lips, drums her fingers against the refrigerator. “I respect your right to a private life, Billy, but a married woman twice your age is not appropriate companionship. That won’t go anywhere good, you shouldn’t pursue it.” 

“Wow,” he drawls drily. “Great advice, I feel so enlightened. Thank you for steering me back onto the righteous path, Susan.” 

She doesn’t say anything. Her fingers stop drumming. 

“What would I ever do without you?” Billy gives her a deadpan stare and chomps another bite of gingersnap. 

He thinks he catches her lip tremble before she draws away but he’s not completely sure because it happens so quickly. She’s gone as quickly as she had appeared, turning and slinking off into the hall. 

The distractions are fleeting, all of them. Mrs. Wheeler, messing with Max, rebuffing Susan. They’re fleeting and then Billy’s back where he was, on edge, all sorts of horrible things chewing at him, unable to really think around Neil being dead and wrung with frustration because he still doesn’t know what to do with that or why he doesn’t feel the way he wants to about it. 

* * *

Neil is cremated the same day as Billy’s appointment. His doctor is perplexed as to what he did, he claims he doesn't remember and gets the staples removed sooner than anticipated. Not because the cuts are closed, but exactly the opposite, their dehiscence from his raging and kicking at Neil’s truck. Partial dehiscence is still enough apparently, the staples are useless, it’s packing time from here on out, ribbon gauze and sterile tape. Even though this means the healing will be slower, Billy’s fine with it. It’s far from his first round of wound packing, he’s patched himself up plenty of times before and his skin wasn’t really wild about the metal anyway. 

Later around the kitchen table, they briefly discuss scheduling a memorial and Billy sneers at the notion of a memorial being anywhere near deserved or warranted. 

“What’s the point? No one else really knew him. The only people who knew him are right here and then my mom, wherever the fuck she is…” 

Max and Susan exchange glances. 

“You two really want to stand around while these townies crowd like vultures? Offering condolences and saying all this bullshit about what a great guy Neil was?” 

“It isn’t appealing in the least,” Susan says slowly. “But appearances are important.” 

Billy rolls his eyes. “Appearances were important _to Neil_. Newsflash, he’s dead, we don’t have to pretend anymore.”

“I don’t really want to have a memorial either,” Max agrees, sighing out. “I’d have to get all dressed up. It’s hard enough putting sweatpants on one-handed, let alone whatever stuffy mourning dress I’d have to wear.” 

“I’d help you,” Susan says. “I told you I’d help you with whatever you need.” 

“Not the point,” Max snaps at her, so sudden and heated that it actually takes Billy off guard. “I don’t want to do that for him.” 

“It wouldn’t be for him,” Susan protests, voice petal soft even though there’s something harder in her eyes. “It would be for us. It might be suspicious if we don’t have any kind of memorial.” 

“Are you kidding me?” Billy gripes, glowering irritably. “There you go spouting off about appearances again. Why do you want to put on a show about who everybody else thinks he was? What the hell is wrong with you?” 

That hard thing doesn’t leave Susan’s eyes. Her mouth pulls tight but she won’t look at him, doesn’t say a word. 

“Cool it,” Max mutters at him, bumping her foot against his shin beneath the table. “It’s not like that.” 

“Then what’s it like?” Billy growls. 

Max looks to Susan, who exhales through her nose and tosses her hands up. 

“I retract,” she decides. “Never mind it. We’re all in agreement that Neil doesn’t deserve remembrance and given the circumstances of his death, any kind of service would almost certainly be overrun with gossip hounds and intrigued strangers. Why bother?” 

“So we’re not doing anything?” Max asks, blinking. 

“Not a thing.” Susan rubs the back of her neck and then drops her chin into her hand. “If there’s anywhere particular you’d like to spread the ashes, Billy, by all means. Neil was yours before he was ours.” 

The ashes are sitting right there in the middle of the table, sealed in a plastic bag inside a cardboard box made of much fancier cardboard than the average cardboard box. 

“Hell, I’m gonna flush them down the toilet.” 

Billy doesn’t realize he means it at first and then abruptly means it very much. The idea just grabs hold of him and he snatches the box, hurrying off to the bathroom in a huff. 

“Whoa, really?!” Max exclaims behind him.

“Wait,” Susan protests after. “Billy, wait, you’ll clog the toilet!” 

At that, he laughs, barbed and bitter. He rips the top off the box and flicks the bathroom light on. Sets in on the sink, offhandedly jerks the bag free. Max shows up at his shoulder, pair of scissors in her hand. 

“Nice.” 

She smirks and there’s something dark in it, something a lot like the things Billy feels slithering through his guts. They aren’t siblings by blood. Maybe she’s starting to take after him anyway. 

He cuts a slit in the bag and dumps some ashes in the toilet. They’re heavier than he’d have thought. He’s cleaned out ashes from the fireplace before, but these ones are denser. 

“We should only do a little at a time,” Max says. “Otherwise we’ll clog the toilet, like Mom said.” 

Billy nods, shakes some more into the bowl. Watches them darken and disperse in the water. This has got to be the ultimate ‘fuck you.’ Putting Neil’s remains in the crapper, honestly, could there be any better ‘fuck you’ than this? 

He flushes, swallows as he watches them disappear down the drain. It’s perfect. The perfect ‘fuck you,’ this must be what he needs to sort himself out. This is closure. 

He tries not to pour too much in at a time. 

“I want to flush some too,” Max says, so then they’re taking turns. 

Neil was a sizable man. It takes six times to empty the entirety of his ashes into the toilet, with measured pouring to be sure they won’t clog it up. 

“Good riddance,” Max declares when the last of them swirl away, slamming the lid of the toilet down so hard the sound echoes against the walls. 

For about thirty seconds after the fact, Billy feels triumphant. He’s offered the biggest ‘fuck you’ to a dead tyrant of a dad who can’t do shit to anybody anymore and it’s great. Until his stomach drops and it isn’t. Evidently even delivering the ultimate final ‘fuck you’ can’t conquer the slew inside of him. It’s still there. 

“Hey, are you okay?” 

“Huh?” Billy blinks down at Max’s troubled, frowning face. 

“You’re really pale and that’s coming from me.” 

“Think I just need to eat,” he mumbles, the furthest thing from hungry. 

* * *

Max goes back to school before Billy does. He plays it off like he’s skipping for the hell of it even though the reality is he doesn’t…he can’t deal with it. Too tired, too sore, already disinterested in the attention that’s going to swarm him because this town is a fucking fishbowl and there’s not a soul who doesn’t know what happened. He normally enjoys soaking in the admiration of the peons but things are just too different this time. 

He can’t. 

Billy spends the day at a house that doesn’t feel like home and thinks maybe he should go, go for real. Pack his stuff and just take off. California, somewhere, anywhere. There’s no danger of Neil hurting Max anymore. Then again, maybe Susan will just sniff out a new scumbag to settle down with. Maybe he’ll be a voyeur or a rapist, one of those demented serial killers who turns people into skin suits. Or maybe she’ll marry the axe burglar, he’s still at large. 

With that thought in mind, Billy heads down to the basement. He doesn’t make a habit out of going into Neil’s gun safe. He wonders if Neil ever realized he knew what the combination was. If his father ever had any idea that Billy had gone in there on occasion, once even—

Nope, no reason to think about that right now. Now he should just focus on being prepared the next time something happens. It takes Billy a minute to locate the safe. Things have moved around since the last time he came down here. Some boxes he has to push out of the way, old chairs he has move. 

He unlocks the safe and takes the metal handle, pulling it open. 

The guns are gone. The guns are gone and this is a surprise, yes, but what Billy doesn’t find isn’t anywhere near as shocking as what he does find. 

He’s hit with the metallic scent first, like a handful of copper pennies. Then he sees. 

Neil’s watches stacked atop the stolen jewelry box. The little baggie of coke he’d left the party for. The felling axe Neil bought to chop down the small crabapple tree in the backyard. Reddish brown stains smear the handle, flaking off the blade. Beside the axe is a crumpled pile of feminine pajamas. Those too are splotched in reddish brown, fabric stiffened with the dried blood. 

Blood. Because that’s what it is. There’s blood all over everything. 

Billy stares inside the gun safe for a very long time. That folk story about the babysitter pops into his mind. The call was coming from inside the house the whole time. 

He stares inside the gun safe so long he goes lightheaded. It’s all right here so it has to be true, but he never would’ve thought. No, never in a million years. The axe burglar story, crazy as it is, feels more believable than what he’s looking at. 

They’re Susan’s pajamas. He recognizes them from coming home to her cleaning like a fiend in the middle of the night on more than one occasion. Susan was always one of those people who seemed like she either needed a sedative or was zonked out on a double-dose, not much in between. Either tepid and silent or all keyed up, spazzing about. Her cleaning frenzies fell into the latter category. 

Maybe what he’s staring at makes more sense than he’s giving it credit for. If she could spazz out with an axe the way she could a mop handle…

_“It might be suspicious if we don’t have any kind of memorial.”_

Jesus Christ. Susan killed Neil. She killed his dad and there are slashes in his gut, so that has to mean she tried to kill him too. 

Billy slowly closes shuts the safe door. He isn’t quite sure what to do with what he now knows. He isn’t sure what knowing does to him, what it brings to the mix of all those other conflicting things roiling around and writhing together inside. These contradicting feelings that have been devouring him for days. 

He shuffles around the boxes and makes his way back upstairs. He nearly jumps out of his skin when Susan greets him in the kitchen, steaming mug in her hands. 

“Oh, I was just looking for you,” she says. “Not feeling up to class, hm?”

Susan killed Neil. Billy has gauze stuffed in his gut. 

“It’s um, it’s okay, you know,” she goes on. “It’s probably better if you take your time.” 

“I just didn’t want to go.” 

“Well that’s…that’s okay too, I suppose. And here, this is for you.” Susan holds out the mug. “Turmeric tea. It’s supposed to be good for concussions.” 

Billy takes the mug. The ceramic burns pleasantly against his palms. 

“Thank you,” he says even though he’s thinking there’s not a snowball’s chance in Hell he’ll actually drink this. She’s probably trying to poison him, finish what she started. 

Susan flounders in surprise, tiny, hopeful smile on her lips. “You’re welcome.” 

Billy retreats to his room. He sets the mug down on nightstand and wonders just what exactly she slipped him. Cyanide? 

Where would Susan get fucking cyanide? 

It’s probably lice shampoo, or antifreeze, perhaps rat poison. He's not going to drink it and find out.

Although try as he might, Billy can't wrap his mind around why Susan would want to kill him. He's mean to her sometimes, sure, but to turn to murder? 

Neil, he understands. Maybe she finally got fed up of him, of all of it. Being roared at, spat at, the broken knickknacks, the rigid requests on what she could and couldn’t wear, where she could and couldn’t go.

Maybe she got sick of him terrifying Max, of the nasty tirades he boomed around her, of the careless way he’d beat Billy in front of her. 

He could see that, the only time Susan ever actually got in Billy’s face was when it came to Max. Totally flipped her lid when he let her try a cigarette. Came as close as her prudish self would ever get to telling him to go fuck himself and die in a hole. Really got in his shit about drunk driving even though Max hadn’t physically been in the car during the pretty harmless fender bender, ranting on about what if Max had been in the car because she was always in his car. As if that was ever Billy’s fault, Neil’s the one who told him to drive her around…

Maybe she tried to kill him because he got between her and Neil? 

Would Billy have done that? Put himself in harm’s way to protect that piece of shit? 

He doesn’t want to believe he would. But that still brings it back to Neil and Susan didn’t just kill Neil, she whacked him nineteen times with an axe. She bodily, brutally butchered him so bad they came home to a bloody pond stain. It makes him feel like something actually happened, because how could she go from scrubbing dog crap off Neil’s boots with that vacant look on her face to swinging an axe into his skull? That’s a complete 180 rotation of—

Billy pauses. Max. Max told him she built some janky halfpipe at the junkyard. That she got hurt trying to pull off 180 when the boards gave out. 

Something didn’t seem right then, even concussed and reeling with shock it hadn’t felt right to him. Now he thinks he knows exactly what happened. 

* * *

Billy doesn’t beat around the bush. Shortly after Max gets home from school, Susan leaves again to go grocery shopping. He hauls her off to his room and kicks the door shut behind him. 

“Whoa, what’s with you?” 

“My dad broke your arm, didn’t he?” 

Max’s eyes widen, mouth dropping like a guppy. She recovers quickly and gives an adamant shake of the head. 

“No.” 

“Don’t lie.” 

“I’m not lying!” 

“Yes you are, we’re not going anywhere until you tell me what happened. Not buying the skateboarding accident, Max, just give it up.” 

The fire dies down in her expression. 

“It’s not like he’s gonna punish you,” Billy mutters, and he’s looking at her as she turns away, red hair draping her face and he knows, he _knows_ and it fucking rips right through him. 

“It was my collarbone, so I technically wasn’t lying,” she mumbles, low and defeated. 

“What happened?” Billy asks past the knot in his throat. 

Max's eyes roam the room. 

“Neil was already drunk when I got home, yelling at the tv. He had it turned up pretty loud so I didn’t think he’d hear me bitching about him on my walkie, but I guess he got up to take a piss or something because he definitely did. Next thing I know, he’s got me by my hair, screaming about respect,” she describes, voice wavering. “Then he threw me into my dresser. I don’t think he meant— I mean, he looked as surprised as I was when we heard the snap.” 

A familiar hatred creeps into Billy’s stomach and in a strange way, there is solace in this. Hate embraces him like a lover with sharp fingernails, something he can grasp. Hatred is easier to sink his teeth into than the heartbreak of what happened to Max, the utter shame that he wasn’t there to stop it. 

“Your mom saw?” 

“No, she wasn’t home.” Max whips back to him, gaze bright and defiant. “She doesn’t know, Billy. Don’t tell her.”

“Oh, she knows,” Billy scoffs. 

Max’s eyes narrow. He doesn’t hesitate to tell her what he does. She told him the truth and that means he owes her the truth, too. 

“Pretty sure that’s why she killed him.” 

Max’s jaw falls to the floor. “What!?” 

“Your mom axe murdered Neil.” 

“Okay, wow, you really do have brain damage. Like, do you even hear yourself? My mom, Billy? My mom? Please, she’s scared of her own shadow!” 

“Yeah, it sounds insane, but there’s nobody else who could’ve done it.” 

“We already told you, it was a break in!” Max huffs loudly in aggravation and kicks the side of his nightstand so hard the lamp rattles. 

“Hey, watch it!” 

“Billy, I saw the guy fleeing from our house, axe and all! You don’t remember the break in but I do and, and it wasn’t my mom, okay?” Max implores him with her eyes, lower lip quivering ever so slightly, and he immediately realizes she’s been lying about more than her injury. 

“You already knew…holy shit, you know everything.” 

“Don’t be stupid—“ 

“You know what was stupid!?” he barks over her. “Putting the bloody axe in the goddamn gun safe!” 

Max’s eyes bulge. She lets out a short, harried cry and her jaw clenches tight as she wheels around. She paces back and forth, raking her good hand through her hair. 

“Shit, shit, shit! You better not call the cops on my mom,” she rounds on him suddenly. “I know the chief, I already told the cops I saw the burglar and if you think—“ 

“Hey! You are not the one who gets to be pissed off here, I am!” Billy snaps. “Your mom tried to murder me and you didn’t even warn me!? What the fuck, Max!?” 

They haven’t always gotten along but he thought they meant more to each other than that. They protected each other as best they could, in their own ways. He had believed that’s how it was, anyway. 

Max splutters, shaking her head from side to side. “No, no, Billy you’ve got it all wrong.” 

“There are holes in my gut, what’s wrong about that? She tried to do it again today, she tried to poison me.” 

“Poison you?” Max’s face screws up. 

Billy jabs his finger toward the mug on the nightstand. Max picks it up, gives it a sniff. 

“Billy. This is tea.” 

“That’s what she wants you to think.” 

“Oh my god, Billy, take off your tinfoil hat.” Max rolls her eyes and brings the rim of the mug to her lips, chugging away with no abandon. When she’s done, she slams it down and wipes the back of her mouth off on her sleeve. “Believe me now?” 

He doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know what to believe. 

“My mom…yeah, she killed your dad,” Max admits, swallowing, somber. “And I didn’t tell her what he did to me, I really told her it was an accident. I guess I just wasn’t believable…” 

“Look, if I had been here and I saw that shit, I would’ve killed him too,” Billy bites out, meaning every word. Max’s eyes widen. “But I didn’t touch you, so what’d she whack me for?” 

“It was an accident.” 

“Accident?” he scoffs. “I got hit three times!” 

“Yeah, and Neil got nineteen!” Max fires back. “It was an accident, she thought you were him!” 

“How do you know?” 

“Because I’m the one who kept your guts inside while she finished Neil off and hid that stuff in the basement!” Max’s voice cracks and he doesn’t miss the mist in her eyes before she’s quickly blinking it away. “I kept my hand crammed against your insides while I watched my mom chop your dad down, is that what you want to hear!?” 

Billy is stunned speechless. Max’s whole body is shaking. He’s got her going and it all spills out. 

“She hit you first, it’s what woke me up— what woke Neil up! Because I came out and I didn’t understand what was going on, except your blood was everywhere and my mom was freaking out asking you why you were home as if you could answer anything, and then— then Neil came out of the bedroom and she rushed him swinging. She hit his stomach like she hit yours, then his fingers got chopped when he tried to block, and his eyeball split when she hit him the third time, and I lose track after that, until the part I yelled for her to stop because I knew he wasn't getting up again!” 

She’s telling him the truth. He can hear it in her voice. Everything she described is the truth, everything and more. 

“Please don’t tell,” Max begs. “Please don’t be mad at my mom, you know what Neil was like and I promise she didn’t mean to axe you.” 

Billy can’t find the words and Max must interpret his silence as dissent because her distress increases, voice weakening. 

“Please, you owe me. You owe me so big, I had to touch your peritoneum.” 

“…my what?” 

“It’s this membrane sheet thing that covers your organs. Yours showed up so I pushed it back. I didn't know what it was called either, until they asked me all these questions at the hospital, but I knew it wasn't supposed to come out.” 

“That’s gross,” he finds himself saying, gripped by a particularly wayward kind of lightheadedness. 

“Yeah. It was very gross and very scary, but I saved your life. So you owe me and I’d like to cash in my chits.” Max stares at him, puffs her chest up like she’s trying to be more confident than she feels. “Don’t turn in my mom, Billy. She sucks sometimes but she’s the only one I have.” 

“I won’t,” he promises. “Neil was…it’s not like I never thought about…” 

“I mean, I thought about it too,” Max admits, the strangest, shakiest smile on her face. “You remember my bat.” 

“I wish I could forget it.” Billy scowls. 

Cheeky little brat’s still proud of herself. He can tell. But her smile fades as she shakes her head and sits down on his mattress. 

“Do you want me to tell my mom you know?” 

“No. I’m not going to play dumb either though.” Billy exhales and sits next to Max. “I’ll tell her myself.” 

Wariness flickers over Max’s features. “Oh…well don’t yell at her, okay? She’s very fragile.” 

“You yell at her.” 

“She’s my mom, I’m allowed to yell at her. Besides, I don’t scare her like you do.” 

There is that. Billy is fully aware he scares Susan. Sometimes it’s on purpose. Sometimes he thinks it’s pretty funny. 

“Yeah, well, I’m allowed to be pissed off. Accident or not, she chopped me up.” 

“She’s really broken up about it,” Max murmurs. “Believe me.” 

He thinks of Susan, how she’s been treading around him lately. He remembers the sound of her sobbing, the desperation ringing in her voice when she pleaded for him not to go back to sleep. 

“I believe you,” he mumbles. “Thanks for, uh, putting my…what was it again?” 

"Part of your peritoneum. Specifically the omentum." 

"Uh, okay...thanks for putting mine back." 

“Hey, Billy?” 

“Hn?” 

“I think this is might be the weirdest conversation I’ve ever had.” 

“What do you mean, might be?” Billy stares at her, bewildered. “The fuck kind of other conversations have you had?” 

Max blinks, slow and unfazed. “You’d be surprised.” 

* * *

Billy beats around the bush with Susan about as much as he did Max, which is to say, not at all. Max hops in the shower after dinner and Billy leans back against the kitchen counter, watching her as she loads the dishwasher. 

“What did it feel like?” 

“What?” Susan glances over her shoulder, confusion crinkling her brow. 

“What did it feel like when you killed my dad?” 

The saucer slips right out of her hands. It falls to the floor but it does not break. It lands bottom down and swivels, emitting a very irritating sound until it stills. Susan doesn’t move a muscle, doesn’t blink, lips parting with the softest gasp of breath. 

“I saw the safe,” Billy explains simply. 

The silence drags out between them for what feels like a century. 

“I didn’t realize you knew the combination.” 

“The combination numbers are my birthdate, Susan. You know that, right?” 

Her rapid blinking indicates that she didn’t actually. 

“Seriously,” Billy grumbles, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We’ve lived together for seven years.” 

“You’re right. I won’t defend myself, that’s s-something I should know.” The guilt in her voice is so ropy, he could pluck it from air and fashion a noose. 

“You didn’t answer my question.” 

“Well I don’t know what you’ll do with the answer.” 

“I don’t know, either. More or less promised Max I wouldn’t turn you in though, so it won’t be that.” 

“You went to Max,” Susan breathes. 

“She told me what she saw, what she did…she also told me how she really got hurt.” 

“She did?” Susan swallows, gives herself a little shake. “She’s been sticking to the skateboard story with me, even after that night. She hasn’t changed a single detail but I just— oh, it was how she was and how Neil was too, the way his posture went when I asked, that tone of his. I just knew he struck her, I felt it.” 

“Struck her, he fucking threw her,” Billy growls, low and seething. “I would’ve went off too.” 

Susan chews her lip. “I know.”

“So I’m not mad if that’s what you’re thinking. I’m not mad you killed my dad, I just want to know about it because I can’t stop thinking about him.” Billy lets himself deflate in front of her and rubs a hand over his face. “Maybe knowing how it went down is the closure I need.” 

Susan draws a shaky breath and wrings her hands together. 

“Most people would pick up a phone before an axe but you didn’t call the cops.” 

“I did, actually, to report a burglary. Though I didn’t call them on Neil, no, that I did not.” 

“Why not?” he asks and he’s truly not angry that she didn’t. He doesn’t know what he’s feeling, really, but he wants to understand. 

“Well, police are…” she nibbles at her lip some more and he catches a glimpse of her tongue as it moves around her mouth. “Well, what I had to do that night was to make sure what happened to Max wouldn’t happen again. Ever again. I needed certainty, Billy.” 

“A permanent solution,” he surmises. 

“Correct.” 

“Max said you whacked me first. That it was an accident.” 

“It was!” Susan exclaims, sudden and sharp. “Last I knew, you were out. I heard footsteps in the hall. I, I thought Neil woke up so I swung with all my might, but it was you and…and…” 

She covers her mouth with her hand, giving a tiny head shake. “That wasn’t supposed to happen. But you fell and Max woke up, and I— I’ll never forget the look on her face when she saw you. The commotion must’ve alerted Neil because then he really did wake up and…”

Susan trails off, staring at a spot on the wall. 

“I need to know.” Billy clears his throat. “I deserve to know.” 

Her eyes return to him. 

“I wanted to kill him while he was asleep. It was safer that way and kinder too, I think, I didn’t want him to suffer. I planned to aim for the throat. I thought it’d be over pretty fast. But everything went awry. You got hurt and Max came out, and Neil was awake. You know how strong your father was, Billy.” 

He does. He knows better than anyone. 

“Neil was so strong, the kind of strength with stamina. Stalwart as a muskox.” Susan’s laugh sounds more like a sob. “I couldn’t let it turn into a wrestling match, so I didn’t give him the chance. I struck first and hard, started swinging and swinging and I didn’t stop. I couldn’t stop until I knew he was done.” 

_Done._

“Max said she told you to stop.” 

“She did.” Susan nods. “He was done by that time. Please understand that I never wanted my daughter to see that but all the same, while it was happening I think she could see better than I could. I think I was too scared to see clearly. When she called out Neil was definitely done.” 

She says it the way she’d describe a turkey due to come out of the oven. _Done._

“I hope you can forgive me, Billy.” 

“I told you, I’m not mad. I’m…I don’t know, but not mad at you. I’m still mad at him, maybe I’ll always be mad at him.” There is a lump in his throat and he’s suddenly both extremely enervated and excruciatingly awake. 

“I did hit you on purpose once.” 

Billy’s goes ramrod. “What?” 

“In the head.” Susan taps at her own temple, eyes welling up. “I was so scared, I didn’t want you to remember, so I thought if I hit you with the blunt side, you'd probably forget. I thought it’d just leave a bump, but um, I— I don’t know, I was panicking and when it actually happened it was worse than I thought, and I am so, so sorry.”

Billy’s first instinct is to anger. It flashes through him, red and hot. But as he watches Susan break down, her whole frame shuddering as she mewls between sobs, he just burns out. His fury snuffs as suddenly as it surfaced. He’s a wick burnt too low and he can’t bring himself to shout at his already stricken, sobbing stepmom. 

Billy sidles over the linoleum and Susan stiffens like she thinks he’s going to lash out. He pulls her into an awkward hug and uncertainly pats her on the back. 

“It’s alright. It’s over, okay…you, uh…you did good.” And that’s probably a very fucked up thing to say, but he supposes sometimes fucked up problems have fucked up solutions. 

Susan carefully wraps her arms around him, nuzzles her wet cheek against his as her hands grasp his shirt. 

“I’m sorry,” she’s saying again. “I’m so sorry, I’m sorry, I just got scared.” 

“Yeah, I get it. I, uh, get scared too.” 

Eventually they separate and Billy drops into the kitchen chair because his legs feel like jelly under the weight of all he’s learned. He is surprised when Susan sits across from him. 

“Does knowing help?” she asks, gentle and curious. 

Billy thinks about it. Shrugs. 

“Yes and no. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad I know what really happened. I needed to know what really happened.” 

“You’re right,” Susan agrees. “You deserved that, it wasn’t fair of me to keep it from you.” 

He lets this wash over him. Soaks it in and appreciates her honesty. He takes a look inside himself and if there was ever a time where he too, should be honest about hard truths, perhaps it’s now. They’re laying everything else out on the table. 

“I think I might miss my dad,” he admits. “Maybe, I don’t know. I’m relieved he’s not here. That I don’t have to worry about him blowing up anymore. And I didn’t like him, he was a piece of shit asshole. I didn’t like him at all but maybe I loved him a little bit…” 

Susan bobs her head. 

“Ugh, it’s stupid.” He snorts in frustration and kicks halfheartedly at the leg of the table. “I hated him so much, I hated everything he was, I hated who he wanted me to be, I hated that I tried so hard to be the opposite just to spite his fucking face, that in a roundabout way that meant I was still trying for him.” 

“Feelings are complicated things sometimes,” she hums gently, nodding like she understands even though Billy doubts anybody ever could. 

“I can’t miss him, I can’t mourn him. Right? I can’t, I’ve wanted to kill him myself before. I know I would’ve gone berserk if I was here when he pulled that shit with Max.” 

“Maybe in another life, we killed him together,” Susan teases softly. 

It is an intensely morbid thing to say and it feels so especially surreal coming from his timid chameleon-in-the-corner stepmom that it actually makes him laugh. 

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” Billy exhales, tired and despondent. “There’s no way I miss the bastard but I still cried over him. I cried over him and then I flushed his remains down the toilet. He deserved it too, any bastard deserved to go down the crapper, it was Neil and I know it better than anyone but I still felt sick after. So what is that, Susan? What’s wrong with me?” 

He doesn’t actually expect her to have an answer. He is surprised when she speaks anyway. 

“There isn’t anything wrong with you Billy. If you want to know a secret, I’m in mourning myself.” 

He arches a brow at that. It’s not like he’s any expert on Susan’s emotional state, in some ways he hardly knows her. But he never got the impression she had much love for Neil. Always seemed more like she was Neil’s prized pooch in a locked kennel and she dared not bite the hand that fed. 

“It’s not exactly Neil himself that I’m mourning, but it’s…” She exhales and sits up a little straighter, frown twitching on her mouth. “I think I’m mourning what could’ve been if he chose to be better. Because when there were good days, they were very good days.” 

“They were,” Billy agrees. He had his good days with Neil too and sometimes they all had good days together and those were some of the best days there ever were. 

“I think the finality of it all has a weight, you know?” she hums. “Whether Neil was good or bad, the weight, it’s just that. It’s weight and it’s heavy, and it’s one more thing we all have to carry now.” 

Billy believes he understands this too. He thinks he can feel that weight as they speak, spread across his chest like a board. 

“I also think I’m mourning how much I lost to him. So much time, pieces of myself I’ll never get back, versions of myself I can never be again. What I was that night, oh, I never wanted to be anything like that at all.” Susan sinks her teeth into the pad of her thumb, eyes squeezing shut. When she releases, Billy can make out the indents in her skin. “Max saw and that guts me, Billy. It really does.” 

“And Neil did that,” Billy finishes. “He put you there.” 

“He did. So I’m mourning that I lost so many things to him and for him, just for it all to end up like that. And I’m not saying any of that is how you feel. I’d never pretend to me a mindreader, but perhaps it’s similar and even if it’s not, at the least, you’re not alone in having feelings that aren’t necessarily straightforward.” 

“I don’t know if it's similar, exactly,” he murmurs, picking at the edge of the table. “I’ve been too frustrated with not feeling the way I want to, I haven’t really tried to work out what it is I am feeling. And I got distracted from all of it for a minute there, when I thought I was sharing a house with someone who tried to axe murder me, so. It temporarily flew out of my head.” 

“Yes, I can see how that would be, um…disconcerting, to say the least.” Susan apologetically lowers her head. 

Billy tentatively reaches out, gives the back of her hand an awkward pat. “It's not exactly horrible to talk about it though.” 

“Talk about what?” Max appears in the doorway, damp hair unbrushed and swept over her sling, baggy tee handing over flannel bottoms. 

“All of it,” Billy says. 

“All of it?” Max asks pointedly, eyes flickering between them.

“Mhm.” Susan lifts her head and nods, eyes as soft as dandelion tufts when they rest upon her daughter. 

“That’s a relief. It was really weird to tiptoe around, not that we aren’t used to tiptoeing around about stuff…”

And the unspoken absence of Neil’s presence is suddenly both violent and anything but. 

“So can I talk about all of it with you guys too?” Max asks an octave softer, tipping her head. 

“Of course, Max.” Susan gets up from the table. “I think I’ll put on some tea.” 

There are many things Billy still needs to sort out and feel through, but he takes solace in the certainty that there will be no poison in his cup. 

**Author's Note:**

> i purposely left the last part of nex open ended so like, whatever could happen. and it's still whatever. but here's one possible version i proposed when replying to lucdarling that i went ahead and wrote. still living it up in dark crackland over here, don't mind me. got a handful of fic(s) left in me for this fandom i'm not in and then i'll go crawl back to the realm of slasher/gorror where i so clearly belong lmao.


End file.
